


all the time in the world (and then some)

by theoneleggedbicorn



Category: James Bond - Ian Fleming
Genre: Discipline, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Spanking, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4081081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneleggedbicorn/pseuds/theoneleggedbicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond is on a downward spiral after the death of his wife.  M intercedes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all the time in the world (and then some)

**Author's Note:**

> The passage that inspired this is from You Only Live Twice (Ian Fleming): 
> 
> '"Have you tried him on any tough assignments in the last few months?"
> 
> "Two," said M. drearily. "He bungled them both. On one he nearly got himself killed..."'
> 
> Warning - contains non-sexual spanking and a very bad attempt at making up a case. Title comes from On Her Majesty's Secret Service, and characters from Ian Fleming's James Bond novels.

**LONDON**

“M’ll see you now, James. Oh, were you really so bad as your friend said? That was terribly dreadful of you, you know. M’s furious, of course,” Ms. Moneypenny’s desirable mouth made a perfectly shaped frown.

“Now Penny, Felix is prone to exaggeration. It wasn’t hardly anything more than a small incident. I’d better not keep M waiting though, you know how he gets,” Bond was still too grief-stricken to let anything but rage through the apathetic haze he’d been living his life in for several months.

He himself felt furious, at Felix for calling M, at M for making him return early from his case, above all at Blofeld who had taken away the one truly good thing in his life.

He opened the door into the office which had once for him been a place of excitement, intrigue, and affection for the man who occupied it, but now just reminded him of everything he had lost.

“Have a seat, James.” M’s voice was the sternest Bond had ever heard it. Bond sat wearily, taking his usual chair in front of M’s desk.

“What in God’s good name do you have to say for yourself? I have never seen such outrageous behavior from you in all your years of service!” Bond looked at his superior but was unable to muster up any guilt over his behavior. Instead he felt a fog of rage descend upon him, blinding him to the dangers of antagonizing the man before him. His skin felt too tight over his face, and he spoiled for a fight. 

“You didn’t actually _see_ anything,” the younger man muttered, his tone insolent. A wave of fresh anger passed over him. He raised his voice and snapped, “You never see anything! You just sit in this office like a…a puppet master while we do all the actual work!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Bond wished he could take them back. A talking-to about his work performance he could handle, but he knew from experience that M’s blistering lecture about respect would cause even him to flush with shame.

M raised his eyebrows and stared at him, gaze hard and uncompromising. After a few moments of silence, Bond shifted uncomfortably and looked down.

“Did you know,” M began conversationally, “in the months since you returned from leave, I’ve had to speak with you no fewer than four times about disrespectful conduct? It seems those talks haven’t made much of an impact, doesn’t it?”

“Sir – ”

“Enough.” Rising, M reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a heavy wooden ruler, one which Bond recognized from its numerous rendezvous with his backside. “If you insist on using schoolyard rudeness I suppose I’ll have to treat you like a schoolboy, won’t I? Stand up and hold out your left hand. Palm up, please. I’m sure you’re familiar enough with the procedure.”

Bond stared back at M, completely aghast at this new development. He was indeed familiar with the punishment, having been educated in boarding schools who believed wholeheartedly in tradition, but never expected he’d be receiving it from this man.

“Quickly, James. We still have the matter of your abysmal behavior in Jamaica to discuss.”

Not wanting to incur anymore of his wrath, Bond did as M had asked. He couldn’t bear to face the disappointment he knew would be written across his mentor’s face and so stared steadfastly at the surface of the desk until M commanded him to look him in the eye.

In doing so, he saw the expected disappointment but also a certain measure of compassion – although Bond knew that wouldn’t spare him any pain.

M lifted the ruler and brought it sharply across Bond’s upturned palm.

Despite his high pain tolerance, Bond couldn’t restrain a slight hiss at the impact. There was something far more intimate and excruciatingly embarrassing about having to face M as he was punished, and it cut through his defenses like a service-issue knife.

“You will speak to me, and all of your colleagues as well, with respect, do you understand me? There’ll be no more picking fights with me or the Chief of Staff – no, don’t deny it – or snapping at your coworkers.”

M punctuated his words with five more smacks to the flat of Bond’s hand, leaving it red and stinging badly and its owner with slightly watery eyes, then replaced the ruler in his desk drawer.

“Yes, sir.” Bond’s reply was subdued. He wondered how M had known about his fights with the Chief of Staff. Bill was one of his best friends in the building, someone Bond knew wouldn’t rat him out – but then, M always seemed to know everything.

Both men took their seats.

“Now,” M began again, “explain your behavior. Leiter told me you drank far too much – something I’ve noticed is becoming a poor habit of yours – and then struck out on your own to confront a group of armed men you knew nothing about. Is that about the sum of it?”

Bond wanted to lie and say that Felix didn’t know what he was talking about, that he hadn’t had that much to drink anyway and he had been perfectly capable. Feeling the sting in his left hand, however, he wasn’t entirely sure that M would resist repeating the punishment on his shooting hand and so he settled with another quiet “Yes, sir.”

M brought his hands down flat on his desk and leaned forward. “You know better than almost anyone how dangerous this job is, even with a clear head. That’s why we have regulations, procedures agents follow to try and minimize risk whenever possible. I know for a fact that you are well aware of the rule banning drinking in the field, having had a…discussion about it a few years ago. And what did I promise you then, James?”

“Sir, no! That was ages ago! You can’t mean to -” It was the most emotion M had seen from the man in months.

“What did I promise you, James? Answer me.”

“You said if I ever put myself in harm’s way like that again you’d – you’d take a strap to me until you were sure I wouldn’t do it again.”

Bond had met M’s strap only once before. It was a terrifying piece of dark leather – thick, sturdy, and split into two tails at one end – that hurt far worse than the ruler M usually preferred. On that occasion, he had just returned from a long stay at the hospital following a case he botched on account of a beautiful woman.

M had been beyond furious, more at the needless danger Bond’s inattention had put him in than anything else. The session with his strap had been horrible but even then Bond knew M had gone relatively easy on him, due to his still somewhat tender wounds. M would have no such qualms this time.

“That’s right. And I intend to keep that promise. Bend over the desk, slacks and shorts off.”

Bond stared at him, even more caught off guard than he had been when M announced his intention to strike his hand with the ruler. M had never asked him to remove his shorts as well. Was the man trying to purposely humiliate him? But that would be far too out of character for him…

M sighed. “James, I’m not trying to embarrass you. But I do intend for this to be a harsh punishment and I would prefer to make sure I don’t actually whip the skin off you.”

Bond shuddered internally. Even after being tortured at the hands of SMERSH agents and gangsters, he considered every physical reprimand from M to be severe and did not want to find out what the man himself thought harsh.

But both men knew that Bond would never disobey a command from M, and so, however reluctantly, he rose. As M went to his cabinet to retrieve the strap, Bond divested himself of his lower clothing, placing it on the chair which he moved out of the way.

He then lowered himself over M’s desk, grasping the other end and turning his head so his cheek was flat on the cool mahogany.

M moved to stand behind him. He lifted Bond’s shirttails out of the way, patting his back briefly. It was a rare gesture of comfort and it only heightened Bond’s anticipation.

Looking down at his best agent, a man he considered family, M heaved an internal sigh. He was loathe to cause Bond such intense pain on top of his significant emotional trauma. Despite his attempts to discuss Bond’s grief, the younger man had shut him, and, it seemed, the rest of the world out, choosing instead to wallow and lash out.

M hoped sincerely that the inevitable tears this chastisement would bring would help Bond let go of the pent up guilt and self-loathing brought about by Tracy’s murder. Even otherwise, he knew he needed to mete out an unforgiving punishment and stamp out Bond’s self-destructive tendencies before he got himself killed.

It was this thought, the thought of Felix Leiter calling him to report Bond’s death due to some sort of suicidal stupidity, that propelled M’s arm up and fueled his hard downward swing to bring the thick leather crashing into the top of the upturned backside.

The strap bit deeply into Bond’s buttocks, almost causing the agent to howl in pain. Bond managed to stifle his initial reaction but couldn’t keep back a noise, somewhere in between a gasp and a mewl. It hurt far worse than the ruler, stinging and burning and bruising him all at once.

He had no idea how on Earth he was going to be able to withstand more of the same, especially without breaking down completely or losing his dignity and leaping up.

‘At least when criminals torture you they have the decency to tie you down,’ he thought desperately. ‘How am I supposed to restrain myself?’

His thoughts were cut off with the second stroke of M’s strap, aligned directly under the first. Bond yelped again, a bit louder. He knew M would wait to start lecturing until he was in a more ‘receptive’ mindset but he didn’t know if he’d be able to concentrate through the blaze of pain.

M continued to whip him steadily, pausing briefly between each stroke. Despite his best efforts to hold himself in place, Bond began to squirm and buck to avoid the strap. He tried to twist his hips out of its path, but no matter what it always found its mark.

“Settle down, James.” After eight strokes, M figured the man was ready to listen. “Why are you being punished?” It was his standard question.

By this point, Bond was letting out a cry each time the strap landed, and he knew M wasn’t even halfway done.

“Because I – oh, please! – because I went into a dangerous situation drunk.”

“And?”

“Ahh, sir! And alone! I didn’t tell Felix where I was going.”

Once M had strapped Bond from the top of his now red backside down to just above his thighs, he began to work his way back up, allowing the strap to revisit skin it had already scorched. Bond’s cries of displeasure became correspondingly louder.

“And why, James, are those both entirely unacceptable?”

“Because I could have gotten hurt, or killed, or Felix could have been,” came the response.

Bond clearly hadn’t thought about the effect his actions could have had on his friend, because at that admittance the tears that had pooled up in his eyes began to stream down his face. He couldn’t have borne it had Felix been injured saving him from his own rash actions.

“That’s right. You – could’ve – been – killed.” M emphasized each word with a powerful smack, bringing the strap down four times on the same spot at the tops of Bond’s thighs. He knew the man would feel it sitting down for several days at least and was determined that he’d remember this before pulling such a stunt again.

Bond did howl at that, losing the remaining scraps of his composure and jumping off the desk.

M gave him a moment to place himself back over the desk on his own volition. When he didn’t, M’s voice gained a dangerous edge.

“We’re not finished, James. Lean back over.”

Bond turned his head to look back at M and actually glared at him. M would have been angrier had the face before him not been so tragic – streaked with tears, emotional pain, and physical anguish. Still –

“If I have to tell you again, I’ll have the Chief of Staff come in here and hold you down,” he threatened, voice grim.

Quick as a bullet, Bond retook his position over M’s desk. From anyone else he’d think it was an empty threat, but M didn’t believe in empty threats, and Bond knew he would just about die of mortification if Bill saw him like this.

M resumed strapping Bond, who was openly crying by that point from the guilt and pain. He brought the strap down lower to whip his thighs, causing Bond to release a loud, sorry wail and stammer out his apologies.

“I’m sorry, sir! I’ve learned my lesson; I’ll never, ever do anything like this again. I’m so, so, so sorry, please let me up, please, sir!”

Bond, who had suffered so much pain at the hands of the world’s greatest evil without submitting to their will, knew he was never able to withstand hardly any pain at the hands of M, who held so much of his affection and nearly all of his loyalty.

Knowing he had disappointed the man was punishment enough; the agony of the strapping and guilt over what had happened to Tracy and would could have happened to Felix pushed him over the edge and he lay on the desk, sobbing.

M hardened his heart against the pleas, focusing on what could have happened had Leiter not gotten there in time, or had Bond’s captors been more brutal. He imagined what it would have been like at Bond’s funeral, watching the casket being lowered into the ground, and knew he’d do anything to prevent this man from dying of a broken heart.

“If we ever, _ever_ , need to repeat this conversation we’ll be having it every night for a week, do you hear me?” M meant every word.

Bond managed to sob out a “Yes, sir,” fully intending to hold to that promise and do anything possible to avoid returning to his current position.

Finally, M had given Bond a full two dozen strokes. His backside was dark red, with darker lines indicating the outline of the strap and an occasional bruise.

M set the strap down on the desk and gave Bond a few minutes to calm down. Eventually, Bond made to get up, but M lightly pushed him back down.

“Not quite yet, I’m afraid. There’s something I’d like to discuss, with you a bit calmer now. Tell me, James – why did you choose to go looking for those men, knowing you were too inebriated to defend yourself?”

Bond shifted, uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “Well, I suppose I was just too drunk to be very sensible, wasn’t I?”

They both knew this was a lie, and if there was one thing M hated almost as much as he hated his men being in danger it was lying. He drew his arm back and smacked Bond’s thoroughly sore backside with the flat of his hand. It provoked a dumbfounded ‘ouch’ from the man, whose bottom probably hadn’t been smacked with anyone’s hand for years.

“Don’t you lie to me, James.” M’s voice was deep with disappointment.

“I’m sorry, sir, it’s just…I just…”

“Do you need some extra encouragement?” M made to spank him again, but Bond hurried out his explanation.

“Look – It was a bad case, and every woman I saw looked like Tracy when I blinked, and I tried to get that man to talk but he wouldn’t and I was so frustrated, and so, so angry and I started drinking and couldn’t stop and I wanted so badly to put my gun to my head and pull the trigger so thought if I went out and got myself captured and killed at least I’d die an honorable death – ”

“Oh, James.” M stopped the rambling with a sad sigh. He’d guessed it had been something like that, but it was painful to hear it confirmed. Hoping he could find the right words, he put a comforting hand on the man’s back.

“You went through a horrible tragedy, and perhaps you feel now as though your world will never be happy again – that you’ll never be able to live out those dreams you made with Tracy, and so you’d rather not live at all. But you’re young, James, there are still things left for you to experience and people for you to love. Healing is a slow process, and you might get worse before you feel better, but time will help, if you let it.”

“I can’t let it,” Bond whispered. “It’s my fault she died. She would never have been hurt if I hadn’t been in the car, if I hadn’t asked her to take the top of the car down, if I had been paying better attention…”

“Stop that. You’ll never move on if you keep focusing on what you could have done, and wouldn’t Tracy want you to move on?”

Bond thought about the lighthearted, beautiful woman, who’d experienced darkness in her own mind and would never want him to be trapped in the same. Of course she’d want him to move on, but he didn’t.

“I don’t want to move on. I don’t want to forget her,” he said, almost in tears all over again at the thought. Already he could feel himself starting to forget – the exact sound of her musical laugh, the way her hair had smelled that first day at the seaside.

“Listen to me, James. Healing doesn’t mean forgetting. You’ll always remember the important bits – that she loved you, and you loved her.”

Bond mulled the words over. He could hear the truth in them, but he didn’t know how he could go about mending the wound in his heart.

“I don’t know where to start, though,” he said.

M patted his back, fond but with a hint of sternness. “Start by not getting yourself killed. And let us in – when you’re grieving, come talk to me, or Ms. Moneypenny, or Bill. No more drinking yourself into oblivion, understand?”

Bond nodded into the desk. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Me, too, James. I’m very sorry for your loss.” With that, M grasped Bond’s shoulder and then waved him up. While Bond fixed his clothing M picked up the strap and returned it to his cabinet, hoping that it wouldn’t be needed for quite some time.

Bond hissed quietly as his clothes brushed his burning, aching backside. He had never been so harshly punished by M – although, he supposed, it was far preferable over being fired, and M’s rare comforting had eased some of his emotional turmoil.

M turned to him, still not quite finished with the lecture. “You won’t be back on assignment until I’m satisfied with your mental condition. And I want you to call your friend Leiter – he was rather worried and I do believe you owe him quite an apology, don’t you?”

Bond flushed, ashamed, and agreed.

“When you’re done, you’ll come back up and we’ll go to Blades for dinner and cards.” It was the standard routine after Bond had been disciplined, although he winced at the thought of sitting down to eat.

He left M’s office and Ms. Moneypenny hurried up to him.

“Oh, James, was it awful? I could hear you hollering like he branded you with a fire poker. Even Bill could hear you from his office! Are you alright?”

Bond tried not to let his intense embarrassment show. “I’ll live for now, Penny, don’t you worry a bit.” He bid a hasty retreat, telling her he had to go make a phone call.

He was so sore that it hurt even to walk. Limping into his office, he thanked the stars that his own secretary wasn’t in to scold him too. He picked up his telephone without bothering to sit down.

Dialing the number for the hotel in Jamaica, he asked for Felix’s room and waited.

“Hello, Felix? It’s James.” Not wanting to lose his nerve, he didn’t wait for the other man’s greeting before diving into his apology. “Listen, I wanted to apologize for everything in Jamaica. I never meant to put you in danger.”

“Aw, hell, James. I’m just glad you’re alright. You had me really worried, you know?” Leiter’s voice was affectionate, but here it turned a bit stern. “You better not do anything like that again, though, or I’ll feed you to the sharks myself.”

Bond was grateful that his friend was so forgiving. “I won’t, though I doubt there would be anything substantial left of me after M was through.”

“I’m glad there’s someone in this world who can get through your damn stubbornness. Now, about the case – I’m just wrapping it up, want to hear about it?”

“Of course – was it Blofeld?”

“Naw, he just wanted us to think he was here. Sold some new sort of chemical weapon to the Chinese, who wanted a testing ground and figured a group of superstitious people was perfect.”

Leiter continued his tale, and Bond sighed, feeling the long-unfamiliar faint stirrings of contentment.


End file.
